Disclaimer: I don't own Plum characters. A nod of respect goes to Janet Evanovich and her imagination for creating these characters.

Spoilers: Through EE (Explosive Eighteen) just to be safe.

Rating: T (Adult Sit/Adult Language)

Unbeta-ed. So all mistakes are mine.

Pairing: Terry Gilman / Joe Morelli

A/N: There is no challenge associated with this fic. It happens to be an outtake from a story I'm working on currently. This was begging to be written, but it won't fit into the R/S story. I might be the only fan of this pairing, but I genuinely like them together.

..::Tied My Hands::..

If only we were different people.

-That still wouldn't make any difference.

I'd only want to you.

-I still wouldn't be able to love you.

Joe wasn't supposed to know what I'd done to make sure we could be together. The right pressure was applied. The right palms were greased. The seeds planted, the threats made. The sacrifice, all I'd given up just to finally see him. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. To be near him. To hear his voice. To hear him say my name again. I wanted Joe. I spent years watching him from afar, keeping him safe, wanting to touch him. This feeling was an ache I couldn't get rid of no matter how hard I tried. A craving no other man could satisfy.

I wanted Joe. I would have him again.

After my father died, I made my bed. It was amazing what you could do when you made deals like the devil. It was amazing what the Feds were willing to give me for information. It was a dangerous game I played. I didn't care. It was the only time I felt alive.

I could tell that Joe wanted to be anywhere but here in the cheap apartment near the docks. The meeting was awkward. Each month just as awkward. He was so professional. Blunt and straight to the point. I sold my soul to be in this room with him and he wanted to be anywhere but.

Joe got what he wanted and left without another word.

Those moments after he left the apartment were the worst. The silence. The self-loathing. The frustration. All of it twisted in my veins, boiled until festered into regret. What did I have to do to get Joe to take off the mask and be real with me. To talk to me. To rant at me. Show his emotions. Lose his fucking control.

But he remained the mask. The mask I'd grown to hate.

I spent months waiting for him. My skin crawled between the times I could be in the same room with him. I waited for him to call me by my first name. For Joe to look at me, not through me.

I looked up in the direction on the apartment, knowing if the light was on outside, one of us was in residence.

The light was on.

My steps slowed.

I tipped my head back, looking up the flights of steps. I'd never been the last one to arrive. Nerves fluttered through me and I reached to my lower back. I palmed my .40, double checking the magazine before silently taking the stairs. I put the single key in the lock and carefully opened the door, unsure what I would find.

A rough pair of hands. The wild dark gaze fixed on me. My breath left me in a short gasp. The door was hard against my back and his knee went between my legs.

"What are you doing! Are you crazy?"

"What took you so long to get here?" His eyes searched mine. His body shifted so every hard inch of muscle pressed into me. "Give me the gun."

"You've never beat me here once, Joe. Why now?" I shifted against him, brought the gun up not in surrender but for protection. "What's different?"

"There's no use fighting me, Terry." His hand wrapped around my wrist. His grip bruising, but I only gripped the gun tighter. "I'm here for you."

There was only the sound of my harsh breathing in short gasps. My heart hammered against my rib cage. I curled my fingers around the hilt of the .40, trying to find a sliver of anger to keep from yielding.

"Let me go," I breathed. His face was inches from mine. My gaze went to his lips. "Let me go, Joe."

"No." His fingers wrapped around mine, over the hilt of the gun and I let him have it. I didn't look away. I couldn't. His gaze flicked away from mine. His attention diverted by my gun.

It was all I could do to keep my eyes on him and not relax into him and pull him closer. In the dim light, his hair was damp. His sweater clung to his arms, molded to his chest.

It was torture being this close. I could feel every hard contour of his body. The lean muscle pressed into any softness, fitted as if he belonged against me. He pressed into me harder and his lips were bruising against my own. He nipped my lower lip, swept his tongue inside my mouth.

"It's only you now, T." His hips rolled against mine. I moaned his name into his mouth. I didn't care if he lied. I only wanted to believe. "Stay with me."

Yes. "Prove it."

"Only you." His dark gaze locked with mine. "You're who I want."

"There's no going back, Joe." Tentatively, I slid the flat of my palm up his chest. My fingers curled into the soft sweater material. I've wanted this for far too long. Wanted him. "Once I go there, I can't go back."

My heart fluttered, painfully. It was so hard to breathe past the lump situated at the base of my throat. I was filled with nervous anticipation of something I never thought would happen.

"You want me?"

"This isn't a matter of want. I want you." His fingers wrapped around my hip bone, pushing my shirt up and caressed bare skin. Heat flared through me but I pushed it aside. "But this won't be easy, Joe. I'm not Stephanie Plum."

"We'll work this out someway." Joe leaned forward and nuzzled my neck. His breath was warm and sent a shiver down my spine.

"The cops won't like this."

I felt his lips curve upward as his lips brushed along my jaw. "There are ways around the law."

I laughed. "I hope you don't mean by playing cops and robbers."

Joe cupped the nape of my neck, fingers weaved through my hair. His thumb stroked behind my ear. He tipped my chin back and his gaze found mine. "I'm done being patient, Terry."

Me too.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips into his. "Then let's stop wasting time, Joe."

..::End::..

Written: June 7, 2012

Original Posting Date: August 03, 2012